<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Five Years by Notsyrups</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22965454">Five Years</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Notsyrups/pseuds/Notsyrups'>Notsyrups</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, background hilda/claude but v casual, sad boy hours</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 13:27:09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,780</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22965454</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Notsyrups/pseuds/Notsyrups</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The five years Byleth was gone took a long time. But Claude knew she'd be back.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Hilda Valentine Goneril &amp; Claude von Riegan, My Unit | Byleth/Claude von Riegan</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>78</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Year 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Gonna be some small blurbs of Claude's time between Part 1 and 2</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Claude made his way through life like the wind. Marianne had been right about that. Byleth really had been the tree to hold the group, and now that she was gone… the wind had no effect. The Professor had been missing in action for three moons now. The battle at Garreg Mach had taken more than a few lives, it took his Teach away. He thought of her as a partner, his other half… not… romantically… obviously…</p><p>“What do you think you’re doing, Claude,” Hilda’s voice breaks through his thoughts. He looks back to see her standing in the doorframe, hands on her hips. Her twin tails had been let loose, and pink locks fall down her back. Claude had been staying in Goneril territory since the battle as Riegan territory was a bit too treacherous at the moment.</p><p>“You’ll have to be more specific, Hil,” Claude sighs, running a hand down his face.</p><p>She walks into the room and gestures to the books strewn across the floor. Most of them opened to various stories of the Immaculate One and legends of the Goddess. Some were strategy books, and there were a few rolls of parchment where Claude had been jotting down stratagems for the upcoming war. His schemes were not coming together like they used to, he needed Teach. They were a <em>team</em>, dammit. “Claude this is a disaster zone.”</p><p>Claude looks around where he sits on the floor, a quill in his right hand and a map of the Alliance in his left. “I’m working, Hil,” he shrugs.</p><p>She kneels down and picks up a book titled <em>The Beginning</em>. It had something to do with the Goddess, Sothis, and her powers she was thought to have had. “When did you become devout?”</p><p>“I’m not,” he hisses out, leaning onto his knees to snatch the book from Hilda’s hands.</p><p>She tosses her hands up in surrender. “What is it you think you’re looking for, Claude? She,” Hilda’s hands cover her face, and Claude can tell she’s also tired of crying. “She’s dead, Claude. It’s been months and she hasn’t returned to us.” Claude felt his head shaking no, violently. He refused to believe that his Teach just died like that. “You saw her fall just as I did, Claude!” her voice raises and she grabs another book, <em>Hero’s Relics: A Guide</em>.</p><p>Hilda’s expression twists as she flips through the pages, “Was she just a relic to you?”</p><p>“How could you say that?” Claude defends. “You know that she wasn’t.”</p><p>Hilda nods, her bottom lip worried between teeth. “We both have relics, Claude, but she had The Sword of the Creator. You can’t honestly tell me you didn’t think about using that.”</p><p>It was true that at first her power seemed easy to manipulate, he could have used it for his goals, his dreams. But soon Byleth became irreplaceable for more than just her relic, but for who she was as a person. She was the one he trusted more than anyone, she stayed up with him countless nights to help him with his magic lessons. She shared his affinity for strategy making, they were talented tacticians. She cared about everyone, but more importantly she cared about <em>him</em>. She cared if he died, she cared if he was hurt, if he could handle killing others, if he was comfortable, if he wasn’t… she cared! And now, she’s gone. Claude’s face was wet, and it took Hilda wiping his cheeks to realize it was because he was crying.</p><p>Hilda took his face in her hands, “We all loved her, Claude. But she wouldn’t want us to obsess over her.” Her thumbs wipe away stray tears.</p><p>“She’s not dead, Hilda. She can’t be, we have so much work to do her and I,” a hiccup comes out of him and Hilda brings his head to her shoulder and holds him tight.</p><p>“Alright. She’s not dead.” She concedes, Claude knows she doesn’t have the faith in Byleth that he does, that’s why he’s looking through these books. He needs this answer. He needs to know there’s a chance. She sliced through time and space to come back to him, to the Deer. She’ll be back again.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Year 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I'll be honest I didn't know how this would work out but here we are lmao</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Claude rubs his chin, the stubble scratching his palm. A yawn hits him. He looks over and sees it is about half past the 6th candlemark. He goes over documents from the monastery that had been shipped to Goneril territory, he’s hid out there for so long now. Two years had come and passed, and Edelgard’s war trudges on. His grandfather is getting more and more ill, the letters say. Judith pleads with him to return home to attend to his kin. At this point, Claude just wants to go back to Almyra. He misses the simplicity of being Khalid. </p><p>But, he has a war to win. If it’s in vain, he wouldn’t know. He needs Fodlan to be better for when Teach returns… she’ll help him finish it if he gets it started. </p><p>He writes to allies in the Kingdom and the hidden camps within the Empire itself. Coding letters and decrypting others takes so much strain on both his eyes and his fucking patience. </p><p>He puts the letters he’s finished writing on top of a tome Lysithea had given him as a parting gift two years ago, she had asked him to take care of himself and pushed a book of Faith Magic into his chest and walked off quickly. He would think of that fondly if he hadn’t absolutely hated that she felt the need for it.</p><p>He moves his candle to the windowsill and sits on the side of his bed, shoving his boots off with unavoidable grunts. Though the rest of the building would awake soon, he needed rest. At least an hour. Then he’d reply to Judith and accept his place in Riegan territory. But… sleep. Sleep first.</p><p>---<br/>Hilda knocks on his door and walks in easily, a shrill “eep!” heard as she trips over the several boots strewn across the floor. “Claude!”</p><p>He shoots upright, tossing blankets aside. He had one foot on the sun-stained wood floor, and the matching hand’s fingers brushed onto the handle of his axe beside the bed. “For Goddess’ sake, Hil,” he says hoarsely.</p><p>She leans down to move the boots to the side of the room, making her way to him as she talks. “Claude, how you live like this I have no earthly clue.” She shoots back up straight, he hands planted firmly on her hips. Her bangs flipped to where portions were sticking up, and she blew up to fix them. “Anywho-” she steps quickly and sits down on his bed, “you’ve slept too long! Judith is here and I told her I’d help you pack, now-”</p><p>“She’s HERE?”</p><p>“Yeah that’s what I said, anyway you know how much I hate manual labor, and I told her as much, but it’s for the cause-”</p><p>“Judith is here?”</p><p>“Yes Claude keep up. Now, as I was saying, it’s for the cause so let’s get you started.”</p><p>“Hilda!”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“I never replied to her letter.”</p><p>Hilda turns from where she had begun gathering books, and raises an eyebrow at him. “You think you’re the only one she’s written to?” She sets the stack onto the desk across the room. With one hand on the stack, she turns her body back to Claude, and her free hand rests on her hip. She leans in and lectures, “We need a leader, Claude. That’s you, like it or not. You’re the greatest mind tactically, and we need you if we’re gonna win this war.” Claude looks down, and Hilda says his name for his attention again and continues: “ We need to win this war, and it won’t happen from the Throat. If the professor is out there, she needs us to get far. Both… geographically and battle-wise.”</p><p>Claude’s eyes dart up to the ceiling at the mention of Byleth. That was a low blow, Hilda… but necessary. He sighs heavily and stands. “Alright.” The two spend the rest of the day tidying the room and packing.</p><p>The moonbeams shine through the window, and Hilda’s grin mirrors it. “Well, Mister Leader Man, I think we can agree we’re done!” Claude looks at the now-tidied room and a small frown hits his lips. It was like he’d never been here. Two years of late nights, of papers and books across the floor and bed, the teacups on the window sill and desk… he’d miss it.</p><p>They make their way to where Judith is waiting just outside the gates, and they exchange their pleasantries. Hilda helps to load the wagon, and gives Claude a light kiss to his cheek. She waves them goodbye and walks back to her home… alone.</p><p>---</p><p>Judith barked his ear off the entire trip back to Riegan territory. She updated him on his grandfather’s health decline, which lords he needed to suck up to prior to his succession, and the overall politics of the area. </p><p>Claude had come to Fodlan as Khalid, and it was Judith who took him aside at the first “What’s your name?” repeat. She reminded him that Fodlan was vastly different to Almyra, and he’d need a different name to move forward without a coup. Damn prejudiced bastards, I say, boy. She had promised him to never call him Claude, fake names meaning nothing to her. </p><p>Now, she just seems to lecture him, much like his mother and father. Claude looked out the wagon’s front and tried to ignore her as much as his 20 year old brain would allow. He spent the rest of the trip with the low humming of Judith talking in one ear, and the crackling of sticks below the wheel in the other. He tried to just imagine a Fodlan where there was no war, and how peaceful a time that could be.</p><p>Soon enough they came across the border for Riegan territory, and Claude perked up. Judith slapped his arm with the back of her hand and laughed, “Don’t look so excited, boy, you’re here to work!” Claude paid no mind, and his mind took in all the terrain he could see, the trees and rocks, the formations of it all. </p><p>Seems a tactician never really rests.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Year 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This chapter is less Byleth-y and more Claude and his Grandfather.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Claude’s grandfather dies exactly one week after Claude’s 21st birthday. It was a day of sunshine, a stark opposition to what one expects their death day to be like. Claude was by his side when it happened, called in the midst of the night by the court physicians. Dressed in his night robes, Claude had rushed into the room, the bottom of which had been trailing behind him against the cool tile floor. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Godfrey?” The dying leader asked, his shaking white hand reaching out to Claude. “Godfrey are you here?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Claude took his hand wordlessly, and sat in the chair provided. He gave the man’s hand a squeeze in response.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Godfrey…you must…Tiana,” a cough overtakes Oswald as the grip on Claude’s hand tightens. Claude’s eyes soften considerably at the mention of his mother. He presses a kiss to the cold knuckles.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The day moved by slowly, as Oswald would take a breath and go still, only for a few moments to pass before breathing again. Claude had seen death so many times, in the faces of his comrades on the battlefield, in the enemies he had fired arrows into, into pompous courtiers in Almyra he’d poisoned, but never a natural death. Never a life that had just come to its eventual conclusion. His life had been filled with murder and betrayal on any and all sides, but this end? To die in the company of those you loved and loved you? Claude didn’t know how to feel.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>When he took his final breaths, a sunbeam shone onto the bed through the softly flowing velvet curtains. It lit Claude’s hands where they were entwined with his grandfather’s. Claude couldn’t muster the tears, opting instead to fold the deceased’s hands neatly across their chest. A couple of pats was his final farewell to a life left behind, and slowly he stood. The chair’s legs scraped across the floor with inconsiderate noise, and Claude practically flew through the halls back to his own chamber. A robe of red and yellow framing him king.</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He’d been established in the household and court for 6 months by this point, so the transition of  power had been fairly smooth. At the birthday celebration, the Alliance Leader had pulled him aside privately.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Claude, my boy, the day will come when you’re leader.” Claude had nodded for him to go on. “When you do, you need to secure your succession. I had two children, and yet the daughter is nowhere to be found and my son dead. You’re a grandchild, and that’s your claim. But be wary of Riegan cousins wanting their time.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Claude opened his mouth, “Heirs? I-,”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Even if it’s a wife, or whoever.” He claps a meaty hand onto Claude’s shoulder with a </span>
  </em>
  <span>thwap</span>
  <em>
    <span>.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Listen, Gramps-”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“My Lord.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“</span>
  </em>
  <span>My Lord</span>
  <em>
    <span>,” Claude looks away, “we won’t have to worry about that for a while. Besides, I’m just 21, there’s plenty of time for talks of brides. Let’s focus on the war effort, yeah?” his brows lift and the corners of his lips perk up.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Now dressed in the traditional Fodlan garments, Claude stands before a mirror. Judith stands behind him patting the shoulders of his suit. The yellows and reds stand out on his tan skin. Claude’s face is distorted in the mirror. His eyes downcast, though not for the death of a grandfather… he wasn’t the most tender man. He was more concerned for the future, if he’s the leader of the Alliance during this war time, there was no doubt on how fast Edelgard would come to strike him down.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Claude,” his grandfather started one day, “That bitch of an Empress,” he waves a piece of parchment in his direction. Claude moved forward and took the letter in his hands:</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>The Empire is awaiting your surrender, Lord Riegan.</span>
  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>Empress Edelgard</span>
  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Claude had to laugh, the gall to send a one-sentence command to another leader? He recognized the script from their academy days, and knows she at least wrote the plea herself. Maybe she had some decency left, but that was seriously doubtful. Claude drops the hand holding the paper and shrugs, “What would you like me to do about it, My Lord?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He scoffs and juts his hand out for Claude to offer his arm for. When he stands he points a finger to the tactical table in the middle of the room, a map of Fodlan imprinted on its wood. “Help me.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“With the war?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“With the war.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, boy,” Judith huffs, knocking Claude out of the daydream, “I do believe you’re ready.” She makes eye contact with him through the mirror, and offers the most sympathetic smile she can muster. Claude just nods slowly and sighs quietly when she walks out the door. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The door latches with a soft click. Claude faces back to the mirror and gives a half-smile. “Well, Teach,” he moves his body to check out what the full costume looks like, “Who would’ve thought I’d make it all the way here,” he looks at his own eyes, and smiles. He tries again to let it reach his eyes. It would be so much better if she was here at his side. </span>
  <em>
    <span>She’s not dead</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He tells himself, </span>
  <em>
    <span>just late.</span>
  </em>
  <span> He nods, slaps his cheeks a few times, and smiles again. It reaches his eyes well enough to fool himself. It’d have to be good enough.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Never let them know you’re unsure,” It was the third week after Claude arrived. Oswald had brought him into his private chambers for a ‘future leader session’. Claude nodded.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“What do I do then,” knowing the answer already.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Smile. Make decisions. Lead.” Oswald says, throwing his hands up, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Smile…. That was something Claude knew how to do. Make decisions, something he knew. But lead? In the academy he was adequate, but the professor was always better.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>When he steps outside onto the balcony, he is greeted by Judith and Nader, Hilda and her brother, and a few Alliance dignitaries. Lorenz is in the crowd, his purple hair a flag of the life he once had, and although they weren’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>friends</span>
  </em>
  <span>, they were classmates. Seeing his face was a comfort. He steps forward and projects: “My grandfather was a great man, and apt leader.” roudious cheers bounce off the trees, echoing into the sky, “But now it is my turn, and I hope to be the greatest leader the Alliance has ever known.” The cheers increased, and his brow set firm. “We will defeat the Empire!” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Lorenz rocked back onto his heel, and slipped from the crowd.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Claude takes a deep breath, “We are a united front, unburdened by Kings or Emperors! We are a group of EQUALS!” His hands fly up, “And we will win!” The speech carried on, and it was a success.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Year 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Claude struggles to put together a plan of attack for the war. Hilda reminds them they literally went to a fucking officer's academy.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Four years. Four… stupidly long years of war.. Claude’s been ruling for a whole 10 months. The Empire is breaking the Alliance into factions, Lorenz and his father spoke for the Empire while Dimitri seems to go on rampage after rampage in the Kingdom. The heat is mostly of the Alliance - for now. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But, that begs the question: when will they be pulled into the fray? Claude sits down with his maps in the war room. Hours have been spent with various Lords all vying for a spot on his privy council as they spread their useless opinions on tactics. He’s shooed them all away, only a visiting Hilda remains. She sits slouched in a chair in the corner, fiddling with the dirt under her nails as Claude paces the room, his fingers fiddling with the hair at the end of his chin.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What am I not </span>
  <em>
    <span>getting</span>
  </em>
  <span>!?” His fists ball into his eyes. Sleepless nights account for this frustration- he knows. But it’s better safe than sorry with this.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What would the professor say, seeing you now, Claude.” Hilda looked up long enough to get his attention. “Seeing her star tactician looking a mess.” Hilda stood up, her hands pushing off the arms of the chair. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She hooked a foot under a leg of the chair and kicked, spinning the chair so it sat beside the wooden map-table. She walked over to Claude, and with a huff she clamps her hands down on either arm. “Sit.” She practically carries him to the chair, and with a huff he sits.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her hands start methodically messaging his shoulders, thumbs tearing deep into the muscle. “The professor knew how to handle these sorts of things…” Quieter, she adds, “I miss her too.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hil, I don’t even know where to start. This is a losing war no matter how you- ow… no matter how you look at it.” Hilda had added her elbows to the mix.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well - she taught classes on tactics… what do you think she’d say?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His mind thinks back…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Okay…” her hands, small and pale, flit through various parchments. Her eyes flickering between them, the class, and the board. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Claude laughs internally - this new professor was a beast on the field, but absolutely pathetic here. She looked like deer, so she chose the correct house at least. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Sylvain in the back of the glass smirked and, loudly, asked “Hey, professor, I can help you if you want!” He winked at her, but in the time of his questions her eyes hardened and her hand holding the papers dropped and clenched.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“We’re going over the tactics of initiation.” She drops the pages on the desk without looking and picks up the chalk on the board. She sketches out the layout of a field, marking a large army size with ‘X’s and a smaller cluster of units with ‘O’s. Turning, her chalk stays on the not-quite closure of the last O.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Who can tell me who will win this battle?” Her eyes are trained on Sylvain, who slumps down and hides his face behind a tome.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Hilda calls out: “The larger army?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Byleth turns, chalk still on the board. “Not necessarily. A bigger army does not mean an automatic win. Let’s remember this.” She turns back and starts writing furiously, her scrawl legible but loose. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“A small army has less to lose.” Her eyes are stone, but Claude sees the fire behind them, and he’s never been more interested in a lesson in his life. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Yes, the initial thought might look bad,” she lifts a finger, “BUT! A larger army assumes a victory? Sloppy training and footwork. Makes it easy for a small group to go into a camp and sabotage.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>She rambles on the advantages of smaller armies, and takes a deep breath. “But the thing you have to know, is that when you have a smaller, weaker army… and you want a victory…”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You… have to… fake it.” Claude looks blankly at the table, recalling his lesson. “Hilda, you’re a fucking genius!” He stands up quickly, causing Hilda to go off-kilter a bit.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, yeah, but-” Hilda starts. A new fire has taken over Claude, and he turns around and kisses her on the cheek. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Send the Lords back in, Hil. I have an idea.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When the Lords gather, he has his pawns set out on the table. Three Yellow markers sit in the Alliance territory, directly opposing five Blue markers and eight Red. “We are a unified Alliance.” Claude says. He smiles and quickly flicks the marker next to Gloucester territory over. “No matter what the Empire says, we refute it.” The marker next to the Kingdom border gets knocked over. “There is no split - we are one union here. Understand?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The lords look over the table, and Hilda comes to the front to explain it: “If we don’t show weakness - they won’t see how weak we are. They assume we’re fawns, let’s let them think that we’re bucks.” Her eyes meet Claude.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We will gain support through small coups throughout the Empire and Hilda here will contact our allies in the Kingdom. We will be silent and deadly. They assume victory because they have a larger power - we will show them how sloppy they’ve gotten. We have nothing to lose - we’re in the worst case scenario now. Let’s show them how the Alliance wins a fucking war.” The men let out a hearty ‘yeah’ Hilda looks around and smirks, her eyes falling back to meet Claude’s. For the first time in what feels like forever, they might have a chance.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Byleth would be so proud.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Year 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>It's the day of the Millennium Festival, and Claude takes his trip back to the monastery.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you to those who stuck with me while my writing bug came and went about a thousand times. This is the first fic I think I've ever actually finished - so that's nice!<br/>Also I lowkey cried a few times and it's not even that emotional I just love Claude a lot LOL</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Ascending stairs in an orange tinted corridor, the clacking of boots against solid stone echoes throughout. The millennium festival - or what would have been - is today. Five whole years since the night of the ball, and nearly five years since Edelgard’s betrayal and Byleth’s subsequent disappearance. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Claude had decided to say goodbye for good. Five years of worrying, five years of carrying on without her. it was time for her memory to be put to rest. She deserved to have a happy afterlife… whatever that may be. The ache in his heart may never go away, but he can carry through this war with no regrets. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>As he emerges from the stairwell, he’d half expected to see her standing there soaking in the sun. Her bright hair would seem to glow, and she would just turn and smile at him like he’d seen her do a thousand times a thousand years ago. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em><span>“Claude?”</span></em> <em><span>Byleth turns, her newfound mint hair tied up with a strand of frayed rope. “Can I help you?” She places her sword in the ground tip first, and flips her bangs out of her face to look at him. </span></em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>His heart jumped a beat quicker in his chest, “Heh, well Teach…” he fumbled, “I’m here to see how you’re doing, obviously!” His thumbnail worrying mindlessly at the engravings on his bow.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Her head cocks to the side, a rare lopsided grin finding its way onto her face. “Obviously,” her voice lilted just a bit.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He couldn’t help mirroring her smile. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The room is empty, as expected. The only sign anyone had been here at all is the old boot prints in dust and dirt. Sighing, he drops his bow against the wall, the soft thunk providing the blood pumping through his veins some soundtrack. The balcony where he had stood talking to Byleth in the moonlight years ago is now sun-streaked. The vines against the monastery growing in such a pattern you could track the days. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>How he wished he had spilled his soul to her that night. Explained all his plans, and who he was. That he wanted to make this new world with her, not just as her student but as an equal. He remembered the beadwork on the dress Hilda and Dorothea had pushed her into wearing. He remembered the small braids in her hair. When he pointed it out, she had just flipped his brain and remarked how they were matching. He missed her. He missed her with not just his whole heart, but his whole being. And now he was saying goodbye. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Well Teach, I made it back.” He smiles slightly, and closes his eyes to let the fading sun warm his face.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“You’re doing well, Claude.” She’s standing aside him, her small hands cupping his elbows and lifting them up slightly, “but you gotta hold the bow higher, especially when in melee.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Gee, Teach, I thought </span>
  </em>
  <span> I </span>
  <em>
    <span>was the archer here.” His eyes are </span>
  </em>
  <span>anywhere</span>
  <em>
    <span> but on her.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Maybe so,” A short laugh escapes her lips as she crosses the room to grab a shield. “Now, shoot me.” Her training sword taps the shield twice in invitation. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>She wanted to prepare her students for any situation, and that included an axe-less Claude in melee with just a bow. He tried explaining that’d never happen, but she’d swiftly disarmed him with a wooden sword leaving him with the bow strapped to his back. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Claude exhaled loudly and reset himself. He pulled the string back and fired.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He had so many meetings to worry about. Supply routes that had to be reworked due to a fracture in Alliance support. Backroom deals and shady treaties with various Lords. It was all exhausting. This war was nowhere near done.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He runs his hands down his face, scratching the edges of his beard. “What have I gotten myself into?” his plea falls against the stone, hopelessly cool in their place. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He hears a shuffle up the stairs, a fast clicking of heels. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Hilda?</span>
  </em>
  <span> He thinks to himself, </span>
  <em>
    <span>she’s not due for a few hours yet</span>
  </em>
  <span>… the footfall stops and he knows someone is standing in shadow. Definitely not an assassin, or, at least, a bad one.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The person standing there let out a breath. Claude’s eyes darted up. He turns on a heel so quickly and he sees her.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His world stops and starts again all at once. Standing before him, a lithe figure whose eyes are saucers, looking at him as if he were the ghost instead of her. Her mint hair drips with water, the color dampened in hue. Her hand falls from the stone she was bracing herself upon and lands against her thigh with a soft </span>
  <em>
    <span>thump</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Byleth...</span>
  </em>
  <span>His heart swells with every emotion imaginable. Happiness at her return, confusion and pain for the same reasons. Any thoughts in his head are cut through when - </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Claude!” that damn familiar voice chokes. The sound of a sob held in by a silent voice for too long.  Claude thought it was the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard, his name never sounded more heavenly than spoken by her. His body turns now to face her, and she rushes forward and crashes into him. Her hands desperately try to find purchase on his broadened torso.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Teach,” a voice so soft it surprised him whispers to just her. His arms wrap around her. She’s so much smaller than he’d remembered. “Took you long enough.” He lets himself hold her for as long as she’d allow, his eyes closed and his face in her hair. She smells like both a river and a battlefield, and yet he cannot seem to mind. She pulls herself flush against him, holding onto him with such ferocity you’d think him sand through an hourglass. Between both of their wordless tears, he smiles the first real smile in five years.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>